


Lightning Strikes

by Rozarka, smutty_claus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Flying, Girl Saves Boy, Gryffindor, HP: EWE, Holyhead Harpies, Hufflepuff, Humor, Outdoor Sex, Plot, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Romance, Seduction, Snark, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/pseuds/Rozarka, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Zach's grandfather has a hefty investment package going out to the Holyhead Harpies. But when he demands that they start accepting men on the team, Ginny and the other Harpies players rebel — while Zach has the dubious pleasure of being caught in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning Strikes

**Author's Note:**

> Written by [thimble_kiss](http://thimble-kiss.livejournal.com/) as part of the 2010 Smutty Claus exchange.

**To:** anise_anise  
 **From:** Your Secret Santa

> **Title:** Lightning Strikes  
>  **Author:** thimble_kiss  
>  **Pairing:** Zacharias Smith/Ginny Weasley  
>  **Summary:** After the war, Zach's grandfather has a hefty investment package going out to the Holyhead Harpies. But when he demands that they start accepting men on the team, Ginny and the other Harpies players rebel — while Zach has the dubious pleasure of being caught in the middle.  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Length:** ~14,900  
>  **Warnings:** none  
>  **Author's notes:** Thanks to [name withheld] who cheered me on and kept me sane along the way, and to [name also withheld] for her lovely and reliable beta services. anise_anise, happy holidays to you! I incorporated as many of your wishes as I could, and I hope you'll enjoy this. ♥

 

_The best lightning rod for your protection is your own spine. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson_

*

 

"Zacharias! Who the hell are these idiots?"

Bernard Smith's voice cracked like a whiplash through the room, and Zach stood up straighter and walked over to have a look outside the window. It was just for show — he already knew what was going on. The lawn in front of Smith & Smith Investors would be green and gold with the colours of the Holyhead Harpies. Players and supporters alike were turning up in the dozens. Hundreds, probably, at this point.

"Protesters. Lobbyists."

His grandfather's icy look told him that this was not an adequate answer, and Zach shrugged. "The Harpies didn't appreciate your suggestion to the _Prophet_ about letting men onto the team once the transaction has gone through."

"Did — not — appreciate!" Each word was enunciated with absolute contempt. "They should be eternally grateful that someone is willing to step in and save them from the financial mess they've got themselves into! Are you suggesting that we buy into the club as an act of charity and let it do whatever it pleases?"

"Of course not." Zach let his gaze wander over the growing crowd of people strewn over their front lawn. There was an overweight of women, but a good number of men, too. God, it looked fantastic to be outdoors in the sun and wind, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and trainers, or even going barefoot. Take his broom with him, perhaps; it was just the right amount of a warm breeze to give a glorious, lazy surge off the ground and up into the sky—

"—and let them know that we won't stand for any such nonsense. This will have consequences!"

"Of course," Zach said.

His grandfather raised his eyebrows, as though waiting for him to say or do something more, and Zach cursed inwardly. "Grandfather?"

The old man was brewing up to a storm, he could tell, but just as the bushy eyebrows knitted and his mouth opened to snap out an order, something happened outside the window. There was a flash of colour, a streak of motion, as someone took off up into the sky at a speed that made Zach's pulse race with envy. Seconds later, they turned and came hurtling down towards the large pane like a dive-bombing seagull. A Harpies player, he realised, in green-and-gold robes with hair like a crackling burst of flame streaming behind her — oh, _fuck_. His grandfather gave something between a gasp and a yell as he stepped back instinctively from what looked to be a shattering impact, but Zach stayed, catching the player's gaze through the glass as she drew up sharply at the last split second. Not even an arm's length away. He managed, with quite a bit of muscular effort from his eyelids, not to blink.

He hadn't been nervous, of course. Nope, not one bit.

Brown eyes flashed at him in contempt, and he tilted his chin up just a fraction, trying to keep a cold expression rather than let his discomfiture show through. All right, maybe he'd been a _bit_ nervous. You never knew, with a Weasley, what they would do. And this one had dive-bombed him once before and _not_ pulled back at the last moment.

He gave her a raised eyebrow, a sardonic nod, and she studied him with intense dislike written over everything in her expression. Her gaze drifted to his grandfather, who was coming up beside him, sputtering something, but she at once turned her attention back to Zach. With a sneer, she backed the broom up, and gave him an insolent look over her shoulder before she flew with demonstrative slowness down to the cheering crowd.

"Who is that — that—?!" His grandfather turned to him, red-faced with annoyance.

"Ginny Weasley, Harpies Chaser. Supporter's favourite."

"You know her?"

"I was in the year above her at Hogwarts." Zach did not volunteer more.

"Well. They're right outside and they're not going anywhere. What are you waiting for?"

It finally dawned on him what it was his grandfather expected him to do, and Zach barely managed to suppress a groan.

He just knew that he was doomed to be the villain of this story.

 

***

 

The attempt to appease the angry masses turned out every bit as unpleasant as he'd been braced for — and then some.

A chorus of angry boos and jeers met him the moment he pushed the door open and set foot on the front steps. Within seconds, he had to dodge a large, overripe peach that someone hurled in his direction. Thank god his reflexes had not been completely softened by three years in office robes. The fruit smashed against the door jamb instead, fruit pulp and juice splattering the shoulders of his robes.

He held up his hand in something intended as a calming gesture. It was met with derisive laughter. Clearing his voice and casting an Amplifying Charm on his throat, he was still not entirely sure what he was going to say. The usual glib double-speak, he supposed.

"Smith & Smith Investors would like to assure you all that we have heard your protests. Your complaints have been registered and will be taken into consideration in due course. At present, we strongly advise you to leave the premises and wait for further information, as the Auror office has been called in and will soon arrive to clear the property of anyone who's not an employee or a client."

"Rubbish!" a clear voice sang out. "Aren't the Harpies a client, Smith? We have legitimate business with you."

"The team will be a client come Monday, when the transaction goes through," he said, irritation boiling in him just from the arrogant tone of her voice, even before his gaze had found her in the crowd. " _If_ the transaction goes through, considering the outrageous behaviour by certain players on the team."

She stood next to a tall, black woman who listened to the exchange leaning on her broom, and at his comment, Weasley looked up to meet her gaze. It was Gwenog Jones, captain of the team, and she was lending credence and authority to Weasley just by her presence. Zach wanted to strangle his grandfather, and wished himself a hundred miles away as the two women exchanged a comment and laughed.

"Oh, the transaction will go through," Jones stated with confidence.

"There are no guarantees—" he insisted.

"Rubbish," Weasley called out again. "Granddad Smith is just dying to get his hands on the Harpies, isn't he? He's just waiting for an excuse to finally buy a place on a team for his ickle Zachy. It's hard, isn't it, Zacharias, when you don't have what it takes to do it in regular try-outs? When you have to squeeze out a woman who's earned her spot fair and square, instead?"

Zach stared at her slack-jawed as the accusation hung in the air, making no sense to him at first. When it hit home, a wave of humiliated heat rushed into his face. "That's _not_ the case," he said furiously, taking a step down from the stairs in her direction, hand on his wand. The unfairness of it made him see red. As if his grandfather would ever allow such a thing, as if the prospect of ever playing on a team again wasn't a dream, his most cherished one, that he'd packed away and been trying to forget for three long years now. And _not_ because he couldn't make it in try-outs. He'd never even made it _to_ try-outs, because his grandfather would have killed him if he had tried.

Weasley had her hand on her wand as well, baring her teeth as Jones put a warning hand on her arm. "Take one step closer, Smith, and I'll—"

"What?" he snarled, drawing his wand. "What will you do?"

"I'll bloody well separate your bollocks from your body," she cried. "Oh, I forget, you handed them over to granddad when you joined the firm, didn't you? At least you used to be a somewhat decent player, Smith, too bad you forgot everything the game is about and gave up the only thing you'll ever do half—"

They threw their hexes simultaneously, the magic exploding in a violent crash of colours and sparks mid-air.

That was the moment at which the Aurors arrived at the scene. Of course, it turned out that both a glaring Potter, a scowling Ron Weasley and a smirking Ernie was among them. It was just that kind of a day.

 

***

 

"You hit a nerve," Gwenog observed, as she took off on her broom alongside Ginny to leave the property, both of them shielded by Disillusionment charms.

Ginny scoffed bitterly. "Sure did. He thought he was going to sneak onto the team through the back door, didn't he? Didn't expect anyone to call him on it, the arrogant—"

"No," Gwenog interrupted. "You hit a nerve, but I don't think it was _that_ nerve. How well do you know Zacharias Smith?"

Ginny made a grimace. "I wouldn't say I _know_ him. I mean, he was never a friend, or anything. He went to Hogwarts the year above me. Had some bee in his bonnet about Harry, wouldn't leave him alone." She was working up a steam again; it was strange how she could still feel so protective of the boy who'd grown up to be the man who'd ditched her with characteristic, well-intentioned lack of tact two years ago. "Smith's a Hufflepuff, though you wouldn't believe it. Fancied himself better than everyone, full of piss and vinegar and just really bloody annoying!"

"Please, tell me how you really feel," Gwenog said, her eyebrows climbing.

"Yeah? Well, I can't stand him!" The adrenaline from her fight with Zacharias was boiling in her again, and she clenched her fists on the broom, her mouth quirking to a dreamy grin at the thought of past victories. "He commented on a Quidditch match once and I flew into the podium, sent him crashing down along with it. Hit him with a Bat-Bogey Hex, too, on another occasion. He deserved both, though. What an idiot."

"Yeah, yeah." Gwenog moved in closer and slapped her back with the beginning of a smirk. "I'll take your word for it. My point is that this idiot may be an ally if we play it right."

Ginny brought the broom up to a sharp halt. "You must be joking."

"I'm not." Glancing over her shoulder, Gwenog slowed down, too, and waited for her to catch up. "First, I think you're wrong about him wanting a place on our team. Maybe the grandfather wants it for him, maybe not, but our young Mr Smith was deeply offended at the allegation. I don't think the righteous fury was an act, either. It looked like he wanted to kill you there for a second." Gwenog frowned. "He seemed embarrassed, actually."

"Embarrassed to have his pathetic plan figured out," Ginny insisted. "Listen, you don't know this bloke. Everyone assumed that he'd go for a pro Quidditch career. He captained Hufflepuff after Cedric Diggory was killed — he lived and breathed for the game. If he saw a chance, he'd jump at it for sure."

Gwenog shook her head firmly. "Gin, forget that you detest him for a minute, and _think_. It doesn't add up. If he loved the game that much, why is he in a set of stiff business robes now and looking like he hates every second of it? Do you know if he was at try-outs last year?"

"No idea. He left Hogwarts the year before me; I assume he did try-outs and didn't get picked up." Ginny frowned, too, though. Gwenog was right, it didn't quite make sense. Surely Smith wouldn't have given up so fast? Lots of players didn't get picked up on their first try-outs. He would have made a new attempt at the next opportunity, and — all right, so she had to admit that the idiot wasn't completely without talent on the pitch. It had been three years; it was just plain odd that no one had picked him up.

"He must have changed his mind, then," she said with a shrug. "Gone for the family business and the money."

"Yeah, but why? See, I think he may not be in agreement with granddaddy Smith. He didn't exactly put his heart into that performance on the stairs."

"I'm not sure he has a heart to put into anything," Ginny said darkly.

"A Hufflepuff lad? But surely." Gwenog's grin was on the sharkish side; she was a Hufflepuff alumni herself, and not of the soft and fluffy kind. "And if he cares about the game as much as you say, if we got to that Hufflepuff heart of his, he might just do the job for us — work on the old man and make him realise how catastrophic the whole idea is. That would be brilliant, and save the deal for us into the bargain. The club needs that money, and it needs it quickly and badly."

"There are other investors," Ginny said.

"Yes, but you know as well as I do that the competition for the money is fierce. All of the teams have been struggling after the war season, and the economy in general has taken a blow. The fat old blokes with the money, they love seeing a pretty girl on a broom, but when it comes right down to it they'd want a man to win every time." Gwenog shrugged. "I'm not saying I don't hate it, but it's always going to be tougher for an all-women's team. We'll keep working on the board of directors, but meanwhile, why don't you try some honey rather than vinegar with the Smith boy?"

" _Honey_?" At the unexpected conclusion, Ginny stared at her Captain. Gwenog must have gone mad. "But that... that would be playing this on the men's terms! Besides, I don't have any 'honey' to spare for the likes of Zacharias Smith!"

"No? He's fit, though. And you do seem to feel quite passionately about him." Gwenog bit the side of her lip in a way that told Ginny that her own enraged expression was tempting her team mate to mischief. "Besides, Hufflepuffs do it better," she added confidently.

Ginny sputtered, appalled. "Jones, are you suggesting that I — with — no. _No_!"

Gwenog gave in to deep, raucous laughter. "No, Ginevra, I'm actually not suggesting you barter your virtue for the team. What I'm saying is... did you see the way he stood his ground when you almost crashed into the window? The way he followed you with his gaze as you flew down — okay, no, you wouldn't have seen that. But the way he looked at you with your broom in hand as you confronted him? I've seen that look before. You _get_ to him. And do you know how?"

Ginny squirmed, completely impatient with the way the conversation was going, but with too much respect for the authority and experience of her Captain to roll her eyes as she wanted. She settled for a peevish, "I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Sweetheart," Gwenog said slowly, and she wasn't smiling any longer. "You make that boy ache to fly."

 

***

 

" _Zacharias Smith, the handsome young heir to the Smith & Smith investment firm, weathered a veritable storm of furious abuse as he stepped outside the business's offices to confront a group of protesters on Thursday afternoon._

_The Holyhead Harpies and their supporters have been up in arms since Wednesday over the indications made by Mr Smith's grandfather, Bernard Smith, that he'll demand the team starts hiring male players when his hefty financial support package to the struggling club goes through later this week. The Holyhead Harpies has been an all female team since their inception in 1203._

_Most irate of all was the Harpies' beautiful, albeit volatile Chaser, Miss Ginny Weasley — former fiancée of the one and only Harry Potter. After threatening to crash through the windows of the Smith & Smith offices on her broomstick, Miss Weasley then confronted the younger Mr Smith on the lawn in front of the business. The passion they both displayed suggested previous history between the two. What is less clear is whether this previous history is simply hostility — or something else?_"

Zach growled and, for lack of a more lethal weapon at hand, balled up his used paper napkin and threw it across the table at Ernie, who'd just read him the _Daily Prophet_ 's front page story in a voice as pompous as only Ernie could manage. It didn't help that the pompousness was verging on sniggers here and there, his friendship with Ernie being defined by the one-upmanship that was inevitably bound to follow two blond, stubborn, self-important gits confined to the same Hufflepuff dorm (Susan's words, _verbatim_ , and Zach had never understood what the blondness had to do with anything).

It had been annoying enough to field his grandfather's questions about his 'history' with Weasley over breakfast, then lunch. Bernard Smith seemed to labour under the illusion that Zacharias could sweet-talk Ginny Weasley into submission. 'Turn on the charm', as he'd said with an appalling wink under those bushy eyebrows. Zach had assured him that he wasn't, by nature, very charming, which was mostly true — he'd been told by Susan and Hannah both that he _could_ be quite charming, but only, it seemed, under mysterious and indefinable conditions when the stars would align just right and he'd no idea that he was being so. Which made his grandfather's suggestion useless, in addition to offensive.

"Hmm," Ernie said, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach, which had just received a helping of the Leaky Cauldron's Friday Special. "I suppose that Ginny bringing you down from the commentator's podium with her broom that time may have been a veiled attempt to tell you of her secret attraction to you. Handsome young heir that you are."

Zach snorted. "Since when did Skeeter write anything but crap?"

"Your words, not mine," Ernie said, folding the newspaper and leaning forward on his elbows across the table. "Seriously, though. Has grandfather Smith gone a bit.... in the head?" He made a meaningful swirling gesture with an index finger towards his own skull. "If he forces this through, I reckon one of the Harpies or their supporters will sneak in and bludger him to death in his bed. Or bludger you, I suppose, since you're also a part of the firm's front now and hence embody the official policy."

"Thank you," Zach said. "The prospect of being murdered in my sleep cheers me up no end."

The statement was depressingly close to the truth, and Ernie seemed to realise this and wiped the snigger off his lips. "What exactly happened before we entered the stage, yesterday?"

Zach had no doubt that Ernie had read the official report to the last comma, but some masochistic urge in him still drove him to state his humiliation out loud. "Weasley accused me of trying to secure a place on the team through my grandfather's deal with the club, reasoning that I don't have the raw talent or the bollocks to get a place on a team through try-outs," he summed up succinctly, his jaw clenching. It still made his blood boil to think of it.

Ernie winced. "Ouch. You've got to admire her instinct for hitting where it hurts, though. I guess growing up with six brothers will bring it out in a girl." He sounded quite proud of Ginny, who was a subject on which the two of them had never agreed, anyway. "She has no way of knowing your situation vis-à-vis your grandfather, you realise. I could enlighten her, if you want."

"Save your breath," Zach said bitterly, polishing off the last of his chips and leaning back in his chair. "If she had to think twice, it would probably short-circuit her brain."

"Hey, Ginny may be impulsive, but she's anything but stupid." Ernie frowned. "You've always thought she was hot, haven't you? You were walking practically bent double after Gryffindor Quidditch games with the effort to hide your erec—"

" _No._ " Zach glared, almost as exasperated with Ernie's inability to call a boner a boner as with the point he was making. "Weasley may have nice hair and a great arse and pretty tits, but that doesn't make up for her complete and utter lack of breeding."

"Thank you," Ernie said, "for answering my question."

"Why the hell do I bother with you?" Zach complained.

"Because hanging out with your Quidditch mates makes you sick with missing the game, so you've stopped seeing them entirely, and whatever else I may do to offend, I don't remind you of Quidditch." Zach wasn't the only one who could be succinct. He winced with the accuracy of Ernie's words. "Besides, seven years in the dorms, and, well, according to Suse we're the only ones who can stand each other's company on a regular basis — she was joking, of course," Ernie ended with a sly grin.

Zach gave a half-hearted sneer. "You think?"

"Oops." Ernie looked up as a Tawny Owl flew through the room and perched with screeching claws at the edge of their table. "For you?"

"My grandfather's," Zach said, unrolling the small scroll. He groaned, rose up and tossed some Galleons on the table for the meal. "Weasley has just spelled herself tied to the big oak in front of my grandfather's house. Macmillan, I rest my case. Complete. Lack. Of breeding."

 

***

 

"What the _fuck_?" Zach was well past the point of glib diplomacy, as he strode up to the great gnarled oak that had pride of place in the centre of Bernard Smith's stately front garden. Ginny Weasley and two of her team mates were idly leaning against it, tethered at the end of bands of magic around their waists to the massive trunk. Two Aurors had already arrived and were working on them with unbinding spells. Around them on the lawn were an assortment of Harpies supporters, and the team's marching band stood in a half circle around the oak playing a rousing rendition of _'What Witches Won, They Won Alone'_ , the Holyhead Harpies team song.

A journalist was already on the spot, taking notes. One look out of the corner of his eyes at her gaudy robes and her fuchsia pink Quick-Quotes Quill told Zach who it was, but he didn't care. Not enough to temper his statements, anyway. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, stopping his furious march across the lawn and leaning in with his nose mere inches from Weasley's.

"Reminding your granddad that we're going to be right in his face until he sees sense and backs down," she said promptly. "Oh, and in _your_ face, too. You live here in granddaddy's plush pockets, don't you?"

Zach ignored the barb. "You're going about this completely arse-backwards," he said coldly. "It's only too clear that you don't know my grandfather at all. The more you push, the harder he'll dig his heels in. Good luck to you."

"And what about you?" she asked, raising her chin.

Exasperated, he ran a hand back through his hair. "What do you mean?"

"You have some power here, too. Do you take no responsibility at all? You've always been a wondrous git, Smith, but I thought you'd at least still give a damn about the game and the traditions. The Holyhead Harpies as an all-woman side goes back to its founding in 12—"

"1203, which makes it the second oldest team in Britain," Zach said along with her, taking some satisfaction from the surprise on her face, a satisfaction that was short-lived because he didn't have much of a comeback after that. "What is your fucking point, Weasley?" he asked, feeling sick and tired of the whole situation. "I'm just doing my job; perhaps you should think of going back to doing the same."

"You mean, flying? Chasing? Up on a broomstick, half a mile off the ground, with the wind in my face, Quaffles to catch and Bludgers hurtling past? Oh, I will. I can't wait."

"You—" Zach felt his jaw working to say something his brain just wouldn't supply. He could _feel_ it, visceral, just from the words, flung in his face by someone who loved it with every fibre of her being just like he did.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she studied him, and her brown eyes widened with an expression that had him speechless as much as her words. He'd never seen Weasley look at him with anything less than pure, uncomplicated anger or contempt before. Now, however, it gave way for something that felt worse. "It's really not that you want a place on the team, is it?" she asked quietly. "It's that you're not allowed to want what you want, at all. Because dear old granddad says so."

He could hear one of her team mates sniggering, although he didn't turn his head to look. Heat rose in his face as he tried to stare Weasley down. Of course, she wasn't backing down an inch. Heart pounding, he turned on his heel and started walking away.

She shouted after him, sounding irate again. "Goddamn it, Smith, you fought at the Battle of Hogwarts – don't you miss having a bloody _spine_?"

He spun around at that, tempted to throw a really nasty hex her way — but he wouldn't, much as he itched to, attack a tied-up girl, even a girl who was voluntarily bound and had her hand poised at her own wand. "Not as much as I miss the game," he said harshly. "Is that what you want to hear? You're a Weasley; you should know all about the need to forego luxuries that others may take for granted."

He didn't wait for a reply, but marched off across the grounds and indoors to face his grandfather.

 

***

 

"You call that honey?" Gwenog asked, somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"I don't call it anything. I'm not a sweet-talking kind of person," Ginny said mulishly and sank down on her haunches against the base of the trunk. She wasn't sure why, but Smith's reaction had made her stomach feel strange. Which only served to irk her further. This protest stunt with the tree had been Gwenog's idea, and even though Ginny had liked it at first, she found that she really hated the feeling of being tied up with nowhere to go. Bad memories, on top of natural restlessness. But of course, now it would look like defeat if they packed up and left.

She wasn't sure she'd be able to disband George's magical ties on her own, anyway. He'd promised to come and do it in the morning, if the Aurors didn't manage it first.

"All right, the line about being up in the air, flying, that was a good one."

"It wasn't—" Ginny threw out her arms, whacking Gwenog in the thigh with her elbow, somewhat deliberately. It hurt her more than it probably hurt Gwenog's thigh, and she rubbed her elbow. "Ow. It wasn't a _line_. I don't care what you say; I'm not playing that stupid game, Jones!"

"I know." Gwenog sank down to sit beside her, with a puzzled look in the direction of the house where the big doors had just slammed shut after Smith. "Funny how it still seemed to work."

 

***

 

Most nights, Zach had a late dinner with his grandfather at eight. When his father had died, the summer after Zach left Hogwarts, Zach had moved into the large, second-floor flat his father had lived in since becoming a widower eight years earlier. It shouldn't have been such a change, perhaps, given that it had been his home during summers and holidays all his years at Hogwarts, but it was a jarring contrast to the Hufflepuff common room and dorms. It had been a male space for almost a decade, just like the house, and was pompously furnished, comfortable, and boring as hell. (Ernie, of course, loved it.)

Dinner was usually a brief and practical affair, dominated by overcooked meats, thick gravy, heavy puddings and business talk. All according to the tastes of Bernard Smith, who in principle didn't approve of mixing food and conversation, but who did enjoy the sound of his own voice (something which Zach in fairness had to admit ran in the family).

The wind was building up outside. Zach wouldn't have minded one bit to know Ginny Weasley was freezing to death outside, but it was a July night and temperatures were mild, so no such luck. The Aurors had managed to remove the magical bindings of her two team mates and escorted them as well as the marching band and the supporters off the ground, but the tree had stubbornly refused to yield Weasley, still bound to the trunk by a six-foot long ribbon of magic. The Aurors had finally given up for the day and left a guard on the property to make sure Weasley neither caused nor came to harm during the night.

She'd be all over the _Daily Prophet_ front page in the morning — exactly what she'd wanted.

"It's a tradition, grandfather," Zach said, trying his best to sound reasonable faced with the thunderous expression that met him across the dinner table. His grandfather hadn't been happy with him for broaching the subject. "A Quidditch tradition that dates back eight hundred years. Weasley may be a menace, but it's no surprise that the players are furious. They're not going to stop fighting you on this."

"Rubbish. The Holyhead Harpies board of directors are open to my suggestion. Ludo Bagman said it was an excellent idea." Bernard Smith's square, craggy face looked set in stone. He was a powerful, implacable man, and when he was smaller, Zach had wanted to grow up to look like him. One day, the summer when he was eight, his grandfather had told him he had a girl's nose, and Zach had sulked for days. That was the only time he could recall that his grandfather had ever apologised to him. Or to anyone, really.

"That's because the board of directors are desperate for our money," Zach pointed out. And because Ludo Bagman is a corrupt, money-squandering arsehole, he added in his own head, wondering how the hell the ex-politician who'd fled the Ministry in disgrace had made it onto the Harpies board of directors. Maybe he'd inherited the position. "The board may go along with it, but the players are going to fight you tooth and nail."

Bernard Smith paused with his fork on his way to his mouth. "Oh, the girls will come around. Put a few strapping lads on the team and they're going to see the sense in it. It's a healthier way."

" _Healthier?_ " Zach's voice climbed in pitch, his argumentative nature finally getting the better of his bone-deep respect of his grandfather. "What's that even supposed to _mean_?"

A well-manicured hand crashed flat on the table and set the gravy boat dancing on invisible waves. "Don't take that tone with me, lad!"

"I mean no disrespect, grandfather," Zach said, fighting to keep his temper in check. "I'm just saying that if this causes discontent among the players, it may affect their performance, and that will be bad for the team, bad for results, and hence, bad for us. Also, the Harpies' supporters hate the idea, and you can't say that's a good thing. The team has a lot of support from witches all around the country, precisely because it is an all-woman side."

His grandfather scowled at him, swirling his elf-made wine around in his goblet for a few moments. "And it will bring in an even larger number of new, male supporters when it allows men onto the team. Until now, the Harpies have recruited from only half of the available talent, where's the sense in that?"

"The Harpies have always held their own in the league as much as any other—"

"I'm done debating this matter," Bernard Smith exploded, and Zach clenched his teeth together, staring down at his plate of lamb chops, potatoes and gravy. After a few seconds' silence, he heard his grandfather draw a deep breath, speaking more calmly when he continued. "This whole issue of Quidditch is putting nonsense ideas in your head, lad. We've got to keep your feet on the ground, so to speak." He chuckled at his own joke. "It's better if you leave the handling of this to me."

His hand slightly shaking, Zach stabbed his fork into a piece of lamb chop, too preoccupied with images of grand-patricide to reply.

Raindrops started tapping on the windows, and he thought of the stubborn, red-haired girl bound to the tree outside with a mixture of peevish satisfaction and, much to his irritation, grudging concern.

 

***

 

She'd hoped that Ron or Harry might be assigned the job of watching her, but Dawlish had intervened when they volunteered, saying they were hardly neutral. However, Ron had come up to her before he left and said that Ernie Macmillan was due to take the night watch at eleven. That had cheered her up. Ginny liked Ernie; he might be a bit self-important, but he'd proved in the DA that his heart was in the right place.

Still, she felt despondent, now that all the bustle and activity was over and everyone had left. There was the _Prophet_ front page to look forward to in the morning, but before that there was a long boring night to get through. At least when Ernie turned up, she might grab the chance to get some sleep.

She missed her wand; the Aurors had confiscated it, since the old geezer up in the house was worried about sabotage, apparently. But she was quite snug in her charmed blanket, and the wide canopy of the great oak protected her from most of the rain. The raindrops that did filter through the leaves were pleasant, barely cool, and she'd turned down the young Auror's offer to cast a Shielding charm against the weather. She didn't like being in a bubble, she didn't care for his flip attitude and the way he looked her up and down, and she didn't much like having random strangers cast spells on her, either.

The Auror retreated to sit at the corner of the house and sulk when he got peeved by her barbed replies to his overtures. She could just make out his shape against the gloom of the big house. Ginny drew the blankets tighter around her shoulders, watching as a series of windows went dark at one end of the first floor. Only three windows in the east section of the second floor were still lit up, probably all in the same room. Someone's bedroom, she guessed; Zacharias's, perhaps. She'd seen someone pacing, in silhouette against the drawn curtains, and it had looked like the movements of a young man.

He'd seemed restless. She'd found herself wondering what was going on in his mind, which had made her flush angrily when she caught herself at it, because why should she care what Zacharias Smith was thinking?

A rustling sound made her look towards the Auror, just in time to see him sort of... buckle over and slide to the ground. What the hell? Wary, she squinted into the dusk, and saw someone come striding towards her over the lawn. Her pulse pounded, and then she recognised Smith's long blond hair, and instinctively grabbed at her side, finding nothing.

Shit.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice sounding sharp and cold, more overtly uncomfortable than she liked.

"Shh." The finger whipping up to his lip, and the look he threw back over his shoulder, confused her. He came closer, slowing his steps as he approached her, and finally he stopped with a few yards between them. "Sleeping charm. Talk too loud and you'll wake him up again." He studied her for a moment, seeming indecisive, and then held out his hand. It had her wand in it. "Catch."

Her wand flew in a soft curve through the air, landing in her hand which automatically was in place to meet it. Ginny was, by now, completely bewildered, and she didn't generally respond well to that sort of state.

"What are you up to now, Smith?" she hissed, unwillingly conceding to his urging for quiet.

"Hell if I know." An impatient hand ran through his hair. "I reckoned you shouldn't be tied up here without a wand. That's just not right. It's not like trespassing is the last step before Azkaban, is it? And, here." He held out a thermos flask, his eyes keeping tab on her wand as he unscrewed the cup on top.

"What's in that?" she asked immediately, suspicion spiking in her.

He sighed, still holding forth the flask. "Hot tea. With a touch of Ogden's in it. Looked chilly, sitting out here in the rain."

"Ogden's, right. Like you'd ever do anything nice for me. What have you put in it?"

"I just brought you your wand, didn't I?" he snapped back. "Fuck you, Weasley, it's not like _I_ have ever harmed _you_ without physical provocation."

He leaned down and set the thermos flask down on the ground, just within reach, and turned to leave without another look at her.

Ginny stared after him, itchy and prickly with annoyance or something that wasn't quite that, and then jumped up on her feet. "Smith!" she called softly, unsure _why_ she wanted to stop him.

He walked on.

"Bloody hell, Smith, don't be such a drama queen!" No effect. She took a few steps after him, cursing when the tendril of magic around her waist yanked her back. She bared her teeth. "Sorry!" she finally managed to squeeze out, and he came to a halt and slowly turned around.

"What?"

"You heard me!" He was smirking, the git. She stared at him, rebelliously. "All right, sorry for the... the thing about the tea, if it is indeed just tea."

"And Firewhisky." He approached her again, stopping at the same place as before. "So suspicious," he said, shaking his head.

"Like I have any reason to trust you."

"Can't say I see much reason for you to _dis_ trust me, either." He shrugged and picked up the flask, pouring a small amount of liquid into the cup and raising it to his lips. Tilting his head back, she could see his throat working as he swallowed.

There didn't seem to be any reason to turn down the cup when he filled it again and handed it to her, so she took it reluctantly.

"Hey, it's fine that you don't want me on your team, but boy cooties don't actually _exist_ , Weasley."

Her gaze cut to him, but his slight sneer was on the amiable side. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He was in an expensive-looking dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his trousers were elegantly cut. The way he stood in them, though, the lanky half-awkward grace, was strangely boyish, and when she dropped her gaze, she realised he was barefoot, his toes curling into the wet grass as though they liked the sensation.

"Forgot your shoes?" she commented, bemused, and glancing up, she could swear she saw the hint of a blush stain his cheekbones.

"Nah. Well, yes... You could say that I acted on impulse here." He dropped his gaze to his feet, too. "I'd almost forgotten how good that feels."

Being barefoot, or acting on impulse? Ginny wondered. She didn't ask, though. She sipped at the tea, her lips curling up in appreciation of the sharp flame of Firewhisky down her throat. "So, Smith. What _do_ you want?"

He looked at her and shrugged, an irritated expression flickering over his face. "Do I have to fucking _want_ anything?" He turned to leave again.

"Oh, for heaven's sake — _wait_." This time he stopped at once, and she glared at him as he faced her once again. "I didn't say I wanted you to leave. Don't be so bloody touchy. Just..." At a loss, she sank down to sit against the tree again, and patted the ground beside her. "Sit down." If it came out sounding like an order, it couldn't be helped. She got it honest.

He eyed the spot of ground with quite as much suspicion as she'd directed at the teacup he'd offered her. "Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know, because you're better than dying of boredom? Just barely?"

A hesitant sneer of amusement lifted his lip as he moved to take the spot she'd indicated. "Works for me."

He settled beside her along the huge trunk, tipping his head back. "You've kept dry in here." His own hair was slick with rain already, lying in stripes as he stroked it back from his face with both hands.

"But if you insist on talking about the weather, I may regret the invitation yet," she said with a cocky grin.

He turned his head and looked at her along his shoulder. "My grandfather is removing me from anything to do with the Harpies case," he said abruptly. His expression was serious when she looked up to meet his gaze, a protest already on her lips. "I tried to talk to him. Got shouted down and put in my place. That's how it goes when I show my spine, Weasley. Thanks for the well-meant suggestion, though."

Deflated, she looked at him, then took a big gulp of the whisky-laced tea and silently handed him the cup. There was no reason to be feeling disappointed, she told herself, that had all been Gwenog's bee in the bonnet, anyway. "You tried, though? I appreciate that, and a showing of spine is never wasted," she said honestly. "Perhaps you could wear away at him, subtly. Like water torture."

"My grandfather doesn't understand subtle very well. You've got to pretty much hit him with an Unforgivable, to make a dent — can't say a well-placed _Imperio_ hasn't occurred to me. _Avada_ actually crossed my mind over dinner. Thanks." He raised the cup to her, then to his lips and sipped, sucking in air through his teeth at the temperature of the drink.

Ginny watched him, feeling something gnaw in her gut. Something that wanted her to woman up and say something. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, coughing it out. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's all right. I'm used to him." The resignation in his voice only made her feel more guilty.

"No, I mean — I'm _sorry_. I'm apologising, damn it! You're a big git, Smith, but I was wrong to say you wanted to sneak in the back door to get on the team, and for... for accusing you of lacking a spine."

"And bollocks," he supplied helpfully. "Practically a verbal dismemberment, there."

"I apologise about the aspersions cast on your bollocks especially."

"Much appreciated." He drank of the tea again and handed the cup back to her, reaching for the flask to top it up.

Steam curled off the cup, laced with the scent of alcohol, and she pursed her lips and blew at it. Glancing back at him, curiosity rose in her. Nothing of this made sense. He seemed so damn... unhappy. And he seemed to have chosen unhappiness deliberately. Who did that?

"Why do you do it?" she asked, huffing out a breath of frustration. "You always wanted to play. Anyone could see that; you took the game seriously. So why are you playing at being a mean businessman instead?"

"Hey, didn't you read the _Prophet_ today? What part of 'handsome young heir' didn't you understand? Wait, don't answer that." Zacharias gave a tired chuckle. "It's the family heritage at stake, you see. My great-great-grandfather founded the company, and my grandfather has been running it since he was twenty-five. And I am all he has."

"What about your parents? I saw your father at school a few years ago—"

"My father bit the dust the summer after I left school. Just collapsed in his office one night. And my mother died when I was ten. We've always been a small family, and after Mum died, it was only us... men. As my father used to say." Zacharias shrugged, his head tilted down. "And, I mean, my father was strict, but he was obviously next in line to some day take over the firm, and I reckoned I'd be on a long enough leash to have a Quidditch career." He picked up something from the grass — a small pebble — and threw it. It flew in a long, smooth arc over the lawn, connecting with the shingle paving near the house. "He wasn't even fifty, damn it."

She chewed on that for a minute. "So your grandfather posed you an ultimatum."

"Well, no. That would mean he was willing to even contemplate an alternate outcome. He sat me down before the funeral and informed me I was all he had, what he depended on now, and that one day all of this will be mine—" He made a sweeping gesture with his arm and laughed. "You could say that he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. If only because I was concerned that he might start crying. I don't know that either of us would have survived _that_."

"But you _could_ have stood your ground," she pressed on. "He would have been disappointed, sure — probably angry—"

"'Probably'?" He snorted, but shook his head. "I suppose I always figured I'd work in the company some day. I just didn't realise I'd hate it to this extent."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "You're terrified of him, aren't you?"

He winced. "I wouldn't use that word. I mean... My father wasn't the easiest person to stand up to, and my grandfather was the only person in the world whom my father would never argue with, but... well."

She nodded slowly. "You're terrified of him."

"Let's say I have a healthy respect for him, and leave it at that."

Merlin, she'd never have thought she could feel sympathy for Zacharias Smith, but that sounded like a horrible trap of a situation. And Ginny knew a few things about being trapped. "I'm not sure 'healthy' is the best word for it," she said, but there was no sting to her tone this time.

"It's healthy if it keeps me alive, isn't it?" he joked.

"He wouldn't actually kill you, though," she offered. "Then he really would be heir-less."

Zacharias sighed. "It's harder with him than my father. I argued a lot with my father, because he was... my father. First line of resistance. But my grandfather was this awe-inspiring figure who made _my_ father say 'yes, father', and at the same time he was the guy who set me on his knee when I was little and told me of places he'd travelled and things we would do — of course, he never turned out to have much time for those things, but—"

Ginny shook her head. "I'm sorry, Smith. I really had no idea. But listen... you can still go flying, still throw Quaffles in your spare time. You could get together with your mates and play practice games. You can't just give up, all right? Perhaps he'll cave in time."

He dropped his gaze, fidgeting with a straw of grass between his fingers. "Nah, I never do any longer." When he met her surprised look, his jaw was set defensively. "Look, you can think what you like, Weasley. I used to do that, the first year or so, but it brings it home too much. My Quidditch mates are on _teams_ now, or else they're happily settled in jobs and content to treat it as a hobby. I've got to face that this is what I am now, and I can't just keep twisting that knife, I'd go crazy."

"But that _is_ crazy," Ginny burst out, a surge of impatience rising in her. "Don't you hear what you're saying? You're going to end up a workaholic, blinkered business vulture like your grandfather, maybe collapse at fifty like your father, from stress and misery — how the hell can you resign yourself to that?"

She could see his teeth clench. "He's not a _vulture_. And I'm not resigned, just realistic. Maybe when my grandfather dies, I can sell the firm or leave it to people I trust to run it — I may still be young enough—"

"Looks like the old man has an iron constitution to me," she interrupted him with a caustic look. "It's always the mean ones. He could live to a hundred and twenty, and what is he now? Seventy?"

"Seventy-two," Zacharias said stonily. "I mean, I don't want him _dead_. I care about the old sod, okay? He's my only family, too."

Ginny drew a deep breath as she realised how the tone of her argument must come across, and simmered down a bit. "Yeah. Yes, of course." Family was important, and when it was only Zacharias and his grandfather — she could only imagine a relationship like that.

A soft pop of Apparition made them both fall quiet and look up. A tall man with stocky build and blond hair appeared by the house, leaning over the quietly snoring Auror lying on the paving. "Higgs," Ernie Macmillan said, exasperation in his tone as he shook the prone man lightly by the shoulder. "What the heck, mate, bring a book or something if you can't stay awake."

He glanced in their direction while the other man snuffled and muttered and sat upright.

"I should get going," Zacharias said, shifting beside her.

"Ashamed to be seen in my company without hexes being thrown?"

"Obviously." He grinned. "Got my reputation to think of, Weasley."

He stood up as Ernie sent the other man on his way, glancing over his shoulder towards his old house mate, but Ernie stayed where he was. Ginny got up, too. Uncertain exactly what to say next, she dropped her gaze to gather her thoughts. His feet were set apart in the wet grass, long and slim with straight, well-formed toes. She recalled, now, that he'd often gone barefoot on the pitch in summer. The giggling Quidditch groupies had gone as silly over it as over his long hair. It had been only one more thing to irritate her.

He curled his toes into the grass and she felt herself blush a little when she realised that she'd been caught staring. "You've got really nice feet," she blurted, glancing up.

He raised his eyebrows, looking surprised, but inordinately pleased. "Really, Weasley? Give me the kiss of death, why don't you? You'll be telling me I've got exquisite elbows next."

Ginny bit her lip on laughter. She couldn't help it; it was the self-depreciating way he said it. It was... it was charming. Even more because she thought he'd no idea that he was being so.

It was there, again, the prickly restlessness. Like an itch to _know_. She took a deep breath, and asked honestly this time, no provocation of rhetoric in the question. "Why _did_ you come out here tonight, Smith? I hadn't expected it."

He shrugged and averted his gaze, glancing back at Ernie for a second. Then he looked at her with something in his eyes that made her cheeks feel warm again. "I really don't know, but I guess... I was trapped inside the house with an old, infuriating git. And I knew that out in the garden was a gorgeous, infuriating girl. When you think of it, it's not a real choice, is it?"

That shut her up completely for a few seconds. "That... um, that's sweet," she said quietly.

Zacharias gave her an enraged look. "Certainly not. I'm not 'sweet'. I don't do sweet." He hesitated, but when she said nothing more, he started to leave, grinning and walking backwards with a slowness that hinted at reluctance, hands tucked deep into his pockets.

She stepped after him without thinking. The magic tugged at her waist, but she reached out the length of her arm and grabbed him by one wrist, tugging his hand out of his pocket as she pulled him back towards her. She wasn't quite sure what to do with him now that she had him, but then, on impulse, she stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Good luck, Smith," she murmured against his skin.

There was a second or two where he seemed to be holding his breath, and then his hand touched her waist and his nose bumped her own and his lips.... were _soft_ —

Ginny could feel it in the same second. The bands of magic shimmered and receded all around her, curling back into nothing. The sensation was as sudden and unexpected as his kiss, as _her_ kiss, and she raised her arms to the sides as she looked down on herself. Her eyes grew round. "I'm untied. George said they'd last until morning!"

He seemed to enjoy her flustered reaction, even as he looked quite baffled himself. "Perhaps your brother reasoned that if anyone should happen to kiss you, you ought to be free to stay or to leave as you please," he suggested.

"Yes, I suppose." _Oh, George._ A warm wave of ridiculous affection swept up in her. And then, appreciation that Zacharias had stated it that way, rather than gloat about the liberating powers of his kiss. Despite that little smugness to his smile, which she really didn't mind one bit. She stared at him, and he looked like he was on the verge of leaving, or — maybe? — kissing her again, carefully anticipating her reaction.

"Come flying with me," she said.

" _What_?" His expression fell, which only made her warm to her own suggestion, much as it had taken her, too, off guard. "How long is it since you were up on a broom, Smith? At night, in a warm summer rain?" She raised her arms again, indicating the garden and the sky and the whole night around them. "How much do you miss it?"

Something almost pained flashed over his face, as his gaze drifted over her shoulder to her broom that leaned up against the tree, and his voice cracked slightly on the first word. "I..."

From the dark surrounding the house, a rather pompous, commanding voice called out. "Oi, Smith! Just go with it, you enormous stuck-up prat!"

 

***

 

Weasley summoned her broomstick, making it hover at a comfortable height to be mounted. She swung one leg over it, and looked at him expectantly. "Hop on."

Zach approached, pretending he was going to get on in front just to tease her, and she reacted as he'd anticipated. "Oi, you, get on the back!"

Grinning, he held up his hands, palms out in a placating gesture. "Touchy."

"My stick, I steer," she said firmly.

He mounted the broom behind her and wound his arms around her waist. Weasley was slim, but anything but willowy — she felt supple and warm and _strong_. "You know the obvious comeback to that, I hope."

"Of course," she snorted. "With five brothers — all right, Percy wouldn't say it." She kicked off. "Hold on to your hat, prat."

"Would you do me a favour," said Zach, "and ruffle Macmillan's feathers before we leave?"

She didn't reply, but the broom rose fast and made an abrupt turn. They dropped into a shallow dive and whistled over a quickly ducking Ernie with perhaps six inches to spare from Zach's feet to his head. Ernie's yell of affront fading into the distance was music to Zach's ears.

"Thank you," Zach shouted over the wind.

"My pleasure." He heard the grin in her voice, and she was gaining height fast, so fast he felt a bit dizzy — not with the speed as such, but with the old, triumphant rush of it all. Just the smell of the air, ozone and water and the occasional billowing wave of green things far below. Just the company of someone delighting in this as much as he did. There was a boom of distant thunder, and a minute later the rain increased, big warm raindrops splattering his face and soaking his shirt sleeves through where his arms were wrapped around her front. She only increased the speed, opening up the broom, opening up the wide, dark night, and some painstakingly, tightly furled-up thing in his chest loosened with a sensation that made him gasp.

He tightened his arms around her, leaned against her back, his nose and mouth in her hair. She smelled of vanilla — not confectionary sweet, but a dark sharp scent that caused a dangerous excitement in him. "Give me a dive, Weasley," he mouthed right into her ear, "a good one."

Her head whipped around, quick enough to almost break his nose, quick enough to tell her he'd startled her. "Ginny," she called then, a smile in her voice. "It's Ginny, Zacharias."

"Zach," he shouted back. "It's Zach, Ginny."

"No, Zach, it's not, everyone calls you Zacharias!"

"Not my Quidditch mates." He smirked into her hair. "Nor girls who scream my name, like you just did. 'Zacharias' is too long on a broom and in bed."

He heard a burst of laughter and then, without warning, she yanked the broom's nose down hard, practically vertical.

He may have shouted something, although he was loath to admit it. He'd no problem admitting to a sudden explosion of his pulse rate, though. Zach wasn't used to riding with someone, he was used to being in full control on a broom, and to trust his safety to someone else, particularly someone significantly smaller, made his stomach swoop in a way he could hardly recall. He held on to her waist in a death grip, clutching the stick hard with his thighs, as the ground rushed to meet them, faster and faster and _faster_ — " _Fuck!_ "

At the last second, or terribly nearly that, she righted up the broom almost lazily, and they rose in an easy, slowing arc against the rain clouds again.

She was cackling. Wide-eyed and breathing in gasps, Zach launched a tickle attack on her waist, and she laughed harder and squirmed. "Don't do that if you want me to stay in control of this broom," she warned him.

"Prat!"

"Liked that?"

"No." He grinned. "Do it again."

They stayed up in the sky for nearly an hour, while the thunderstorm came steadily closer, lightning bolts flashing over the horizon and thunderclaps rolling. Zach felt his thigh muscles start to ache — damnit, he'd let himself go. Not a chance that _he_ 'd be the one to say he needed a break, though. He didn't want one, anyway. Up here, everything was uncomplicated, the freedom as intoxicating as any forbidden substance, and he knew he'd have to give it up the moment his feet touched the ground.

The crushing, ashen taste of that moment was what had made him stop flying in the first place.

"Ready to go down?" she shouted over her shoulder. "I can feel your thighs shaking. And that storm is getting close."

"They're not shaking!" he barked, and she laughed again. Her laughter had a girl's pitch, but she laughed like a boy, reckless and raucous, whole-hearted. It made him grin, behind her.

It did more than that. He'd been half-hard, and then some, for a good long time, and he didn't see how she could have failed to notice, although she'd said nothing to that effect. He didn't dare hope that the occasional, maddening wiggle of her bottom against his cock was anything but broomstick-control related.

"I think we should land," she said, her voice blunt even if the gaze she threw him along her shoulder was apologetic. "We can say it's because of the thunderstorm, but they _are_ shaking, and if the handsome young heir to Smith  & Smith Investors drops to an untimely death from my broom I'll be in more trouble than I frankly like to think about."

"I'm touched by your concern." She took them down in a gorgeous, sweet descent, dip after dip, but Zach felt his stomach start knotting up again as they levelled out towards the ground and the enormous, ringing question of _what now_?

They touched ground in the scattered copses of rowans and wild lilac trees near the border of the property, well away from the house. He could see the great oak in silhouette at a distance, cutting a shape into the large, looming house.

His thighs did shake slightly when he swung off the broom. She smiled at him slyly as she dismounted. "Sore?"

But her gaze, damnit, didn't rest on his _thighs_.

"I'll give you sore," he growled, stalking up to her and cupping her jaw lightly in his hand, his heart beating in great big booms in his chest. "You were wiggling on purpose," he stated, astonished.

She freed her jaw with a quick cheeky tilt up of her chin, and backed off with a grin on her lips. "Of course. You were making quite a statement there, behind me, and I was reciprocating. Do you really take me for the 'accidentally' wiggling type?"

"No," he said, watching her sauntering backwards with that grin on her face that was as good as a dare. There was no coyness in her, she played an honest game, every card on the table, and he found that so arousing that he was suddenly hearing his own blood pounding in his ears. She was reeling him in as surely as she herself had been held by that shimmering string of magic to the big oak. He took step after step after her, his face heating up when he heard his voice sounding almost tormented as he spoke again, gruff and tight. "Stop!"

"Because you tell me so? I think not." She was laughing at him now, but it was a good-natured taunt, a simple joy to it that stopped it from being cruel. "Can't you keep up, Zach?"

He took two, three long steps, his whole body surging with the rush of catching up with her and feeling her come eager and sure into his arms. Her strong arms wound around his neck and she must be standing on tiptoe, but _she_ was kissing _him_ , and his hand slipped into her thick, rain-wet hair and he bent at the knees to get more on level with her as he met her, lips over lips and warm tongue against tongue, kissing her back for all he was worth.

It had been so long. Months, a year, or more perhaps, since he'd touched a woman this way. The teeth-clenched resignation of his life had affected his sexual appetite as much as everything else. And kissing Ginny was like waking up, his cock standing on aching, stiff attention, sure, but everything else, too — scent, taste, feel and sight, flashed in on him in a vivid, sensual assault. She still had a tang of Firewhisky on her tongue, and she smelled of rain and that dark vanilla and something different that he couldn't define — didn't they say that red hair had a distinct scent? He wasn't sure, he just inhaled her like someone stepping into the fresh air after hours in a stuffy, dusty house, while his hands wandered over her back, her waist, her bottom, pressing her into him and feeling firm curves and muscles moving under his palms.

He wanted her, so much that something hurt in his chest with this sudden allowing himself to _need_ again.

Her hands slipped under his shirt, tugging it up, and he paused to pull it over his head, too impatient to bother with the buttons. Her cool hands alighted on his newly bared skin, sweeping over his chest with a curiosity that made him groan. He knelt with her there, carefully taking her down with him, his breath hitching and exploding out of him in a sound perilously close to a sob when she opened the flies of his trousers with gentle, deft fingers, pushed down the edge of his boxers and took out his prick.

"Ginny," he croaked. Her hands were on his prick, her strokes exactly firm enough to make his desire build and swell without pushing him too fast, and he had no idea how he got her shirt off her, but maybe she helped. She certainly took off her bra herself, one handed, throwing it to the side in the grass with a motion that made her round, firm breasts rise and jiggle, and he brushed his thumbs across her soft brown nipples and spread the immediate spattering of raindrops over them, feeling them pebble under the pads of his fingers while the silky weight of her breasts filled his palms.

"Yes," she whispered, looking up at him, her eyelids getting heavy. "Oh, that's so _good_." The words, the catch in her voice and that dark limpid softening of her gaze filled him with fierce pride, and he kissed her again, more fumbling with clothes to open her trousers and push them down on her hips and her bottom.

He withdrew slightly, looking down the gentle curve of her belly to the small mound between her thighs. The auburn tuft of hair there was tightly kinked with moisture, and when he slid a hand down into those curls, the heat that radiated off her made him draw a harsh breath.

He slid his fingers in between her folds, warm slick wet all over him at once. She jerked when he touched her like that, buckling a little in his arms, and opened her thighs wider, as much as the trousers would allow. Zach found her clit and rubbed it in soft, tight circles, and she drew in breath harshly and let go her grip on his cock, her hands darting up to clench hard on his upper arms. "Please," she whispered, a desperate hiss of a sound. "Don't stop."

"Oh hell, you're close already?" He smiled in awe, mouthing against her ear, "Your thighs are shaking."

"Bloody right," she said at once, "git," shaking and shaking while he rubbed her faster and faster, and then she arched in against him and let out a long moan that shook, too, while she rode his hand hard, and he kissed her slow and sweet, drinking down every little sound from her.

She sagged in his arms and her eyes blinked open slowly. "Not a word," she panted, her cheeks red.

"That's okay." He grinned. "Reckon you needed to take the edge off."

"I said—" she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him hard, following as he sank back on the grass. "Not a word." Contrary to the brusque tone, though, she smiled down into his face, kissed his lips, and then stood up astride him and pushed her trousers and knickers down. The view up along her smooth, freckled, parted thighs made Zach's mouth go dry, and he leaned up on an elbow and pushed distractedly at his own trousers, kicking them off once he'd got them down to his knees.

He had a hard time suppressing a chortle of amusement when she stepped out of her trousers and shoes and he realised she wore knee-high Gryffindor-striped socks. "Leave them on," he said, stroking her calf. "Unfortunate colours, but they're really bloody cute."

"Not to mention sexy as hell," she said dryly. She reached down for her wand to cast a contraceptive charm low against her belly, then tossed it on top of her clothes.

"They _are_. When they're the only thing you have on." He reached up for her hand. His cock was liking the view, too, and he needed to get things moving unless he was going to make a complete idiot of himself. "Come down here."

She kneeled down astride his hips, but he tugged her down against his chest and rolled them at once, one arm around her at her back before he took her hands and pinned them over her head.

"My stick, I steer," he teased her and shifted, aligning his prick with the slick, soft outer lips of her cunt. He had to take a couple of deep breaths to not just plunge into her.

Her mouth fell open in an entranced little sound, and her body made a gorgeous, pleading arch upwards. "Sounds fair enough," she gasped, her knees drawing up and thighs spreading wide, her hips tilting up to encourage him, meet him, ohgod, he could simply slide right into her like this—

Kissing her, tangling his tongue with hers, he nudged the head of his cock against her, slipping in just barely, teasing them both, but the heat and wet and her whimpers on his tongue made patience impossible. With an apologetic grunt, he drove into her in two long, determined thrusts, and started fucking her slow and steady at once. His eyes started to roll back at her wetness on his prick and the tight, squeezing fit of their bodies. Maybe it was that it had been so long and he had needed this so desperately, but it was exquisite beyond anything he'd ever felt.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered, almost a panic of enjoyment in her voice. She met him, thrust for thrust, her hands curled hard into his, a few torn blades of grass between her fingers. "So good."

"Yeah," he whispered back. Her wet heat was gripping his cock at every pull out, tight enough he felt some resistance on every thrust in, the foreskin slipping back and forth over his glans with every new entrenchment. He knew he wasn't going to last long. But he was keeping it steady and easy for as long as he possibly could, and bowed his neck and dipped his head to lick at her dark, stiff nipples while he fucked her, wanting more than anything to make this just as good for her. She gave a gorgeous little whine at the caress, arching to push the breast into his mouth.

"More," she urged him, and he drew the hard, engorged tip into his mouth and suckled her in gentle pulls.

The sky lit up with a flash of lightning and the thunder that followed came quick and close and loud. In the next second, the rain started _lashing_ down. Zach gasped and raised his head to look around him, squinting against the raindrops hitting his eyes.

"That was close." They probably shouldn't be among the trees. Damn. Though the great oak was a very obvious lightning rod. _Damn._ Christ, he was glad he'd got her away.

Her nails dug sharply into his palms. "Don't you dare stop now!" she moaned, and a sock-clad heel pressed against his bare arse and spurred him on.

"Wasn't going to." He began moving again, harder, faster than before, and now she raised her thighs and wrapped her legs around his hips, crying out quietly at each thrust. The violence of the rain only seemed to mirror the rising crescendo of pleasure in his body, making it even harder to hang on to any semblance of control. Raindrops whipped his back and his arse and his legs, but he was well beyond caring about the dangers of the thunderstorm, and still holding her hands, he led one of hers down between their bodies to where they were joined, leaning up on one elbow to give her manoeuvring room. "Can you come again?" he asked breathless against her lips.

She nodded eagerly, and he felt her cool, rain-wet fingers start moving under his at once. He cupped her hand with his, feeling the minute, quick precision of her motions. She gasped and tightened around him as he kept thrusting in and out of her, the wonderful velvet vice of her body squeezing his cock more and more as she got closer to her climax. Not so much kissing her as raggedly panting over her lips, he barely managed to hold on until she bucked and moaned out in his mouth. He felt her muscles start rippling around him and he lost it, pressing his face against her hair, his prick seeming to _explode_ in dizzying starbursts of pleasure as he thrust in shaky, rough lunges inside her.

He lay atop her like a dead man for what seemed like an eternity, vaguely aware that there were fingers teasing through his hair and over his back, a warm and tender counterpoint to the constant pummelling of the rain.

"Zach," she murmured.

He turned his head, nuzzling against her throat. "Yes, I was waiting for you to say that. Scream that, I mean."

She laughed, and gave his arse a playful swat. "Play your cards right, you may get the chance to hear it again. That wasn't half bad, prat."

Zach rolled his eyes, and leaned up on his elbows to smile at her. "Careful now, I might get a big head." She wanted to do it _again_? He'd never have expected such a ready admission, but he liked it. Oh, he liked it a lot.

She grinned, wiping water off her face with both hands. "D'you reckon we're ever going to get dry again?"

"I suppose we're about to find out." Carefully, he eased himself out of her, and felt around in the grass for his wand to cast a quick cleaning charm on them both. A rain protection charm followed, and under it they got up and cast drying charms on their clothes and their bodies, dressing themselves and each other by turns.

He drew her in for another kiss. "Thank you," he muttered. "Don't know why you did that. But I needed it. And I owe you."

"No, you don't. I did it because I wanted to. Wanted _you_. You're... not what I expected, Zach." She paused, tilted her head back and looked up in his eyes, serious. "Remember the Battle of Hogwarts? When you ran to the front of the queue with the first-years?"

He raised his eyebrows, confused by the change of topic, and it took a moment before he caught on. "Yeah?"

"I was certain that you were going to leave. I thought that was all your big talk had been for, just so much hot air, and I was almost happy to see you vindicate my dislike of you. And then... you just gave that first-year boy a note, or something."

"Susan's little brother. I told him to tell his dad to send it to my father. Just... to let him know, you know? That I... well. Just in case."

"Yeah. I realised it must be something like that. And... see, I had no time to dwell on it then, but it changed something about the way I thought about you. I mean, I still thought you were the most annoying prat to ever walk Hogwarts' halls, but I realised... you had balls. And a spine. Don't forget it, Zach. If you could fight Voldemort on risk of death, then you can go after what you need to be happy."

"Point taken," he said reluctantly, although some voice inside still protested that it wasn't that easy. That fighting against Death Eaters had been a piece of cake compared to opposing his grandfather. He'd not felt he had a choice, at the battle. And here... he had. The safe choice. The easy choice that made everything else so fucking impossible.

"Fair warning," he said, instead, kissing her freckled nose, "according to every reliable source I've got, I'm still an annoying prat."

She snorted, a wide, happy grin spreading over her face. "You think I hadn't noticed? But I only do this thing with annoying prats whom I _like_. Come on, Smith, let's get back to Ernie and see if he has drowned yet."

She took her broom under her arm and the hand he offered her, and he raised his hand preparing to Apparate them both.

At that moment, the world exploded in a blinding flash of light and an ear-splitting wave of sound, as lightning struck the big oak tree.

 

***

 

The crack of thunder was deafening and close, and the light that accompanied it seemed for some seconds to set the sky on white fire.

Ernie had instinctively crouched down and put his arm over his eyes. When he stood up again, not quite steady in his knees, bright spots were dancing across his vision and his ears were ringing.

Oh hell, that had been _close_. That had been... oh hell, that had been the _tree_! The relief that rushed through Ernie as he realised would perhaps not have made sense to anyone else, but he was simply limp for a moment with the thought that Ginny — and Zacharias, heck, put a knife to his throat and he'd admit he wouldn't have been happy about Zacharias dying either — that none of them had been fried to toast at the foot of the split, burning tree.

Another crack followed, very close by, but this wasn't on the scale of thunder by any means. Ernie blinked and raised a hand to rub his eyes before he realised that the shape moving away from him was Bernard Smith, barging straight out of Apparition towards the tree in his blue striped pyjamas and night-cap and slippers, whilst shouting orders at the top of his lungs to his house-elves and his grandson and Merlin knew whom else.

"Oh, _whoa_. Wait!" Ernie called out, and broke into a run. "Mr Smith!" He caught up with him and put a hand on his arm. "Everything is—"

"There's no time," Smith shouted. "There was a young woman by that tree, she's got to have been— oh, oh dear _God_ , no!" He stopped, faltered and stared with a look of absolute, appalled horror at a smoking dark lump at the root of the tree.

"Mr Smith," Ernie said patiently, stepping in front of the old man and catching his gaze, "everything is fine; that is only Miss Weasley's blanket and her bag. She left a couple of hours ago." He debated whether to say anymore, but then thought the hell with it. "With Zacharias."

"Wh... what?" Ernie could practically see the wave of relief crashing over the other man. The craggy, wrinkled face went deathly pale, and Ernie laid his hand lightly at his back.

"Mr Smith, would you like to sit down on the steps for a minute?" he suggested in respectful tones. "You've had a nasty shock."

"No, no, I don't need—" He shook off the hand irritably. However, he allowed Ernie to accompany him to the broad steps in front of the main entrance, and sank down without further protests. Ernie could see the big hands shaking. "Thank you, young man," he said, glancing up at Ernie, "Mr Macmillan, isn't it?"

Ernie nodded and showed him his badge. He was sure Smith had been told some time or other that he was an Auror, but he didn't know if it had stuck. "I took the night shift here tonight. I guess I could have left when Miss Weasley did, but I wasn't sure whether she intended to come back, so I decided to stay." He felt a stirring of worry of his own, but both Ginny and Zach were experienced flyers; surely they would have landed long before the thunderstorm moved close enough to be a threat?

Smith raised a hand to stroke back through his hair, obviously forgetting that he had the night-cap on. It fell off him, revealing a slicked-back mane of grey hair. "I was certain that Miss Weasley — dear God. Did you say Zacharias went with her? He did manage to get her off the property, then."

"I don't think that is how it happened," said Ernie, scrupulously honest. "It seemed to me they left on friendly terms."

Right on cue, there was another crack, and Zacharias and Ginny appeared on the lawn, between Ernie and Mr Smith and the smoking tree.

"Grandfather," Zacharias said and strode up to Mr Smith, only letting go of Ginny's hand when he was close and put his hand on his grandfather's shoulder, crouching beside him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes." The old man waved him off. "Heart like an elephant, lad, you know that." His gaze moved to Ginny. "Miss Weasley, pardon my attire. I would never have thought I'd say this, but I am very glad to see you."

She smiled. "Thank you, sir. I'm sorry that you got a scare. And I'm very sorry about your beautiful old tree."

"Yes, well. As long as no lives were lost—" The sharp blue gaze was bemused as he looked from one to the other of them. "You said she didn't like you much," he said, at length, to Zacharias.

Zacharias shrugged, grinning at Ginny, and then over his grandfather's head at Ernie. "She didn't."

Bernard Smith looked cautiously hopeful. "Has Zacharias managed to talk some sense into that pretty head of yours?"

"Mr Smith," Ginny said firmly, "there is plenty of sense in this pretty head of mine, and it won't budge for sketchy arguments."

He heaved a sigh. "Indeed. It was too good to be true."

"Grandfather." Zacharias had the intensely focussed, part-reckless and part-terrified look of someone preparing themselves for a dive off a hundred-foot cliff, and Ernie's eyes widened, following the proceedings avidly. "On the contrary, it's Ginny who has talked some sense into _my_ head. For one thing, you are going to drop that hare-brained idea about allowing men onto the Harpies team. The truth is, it's a guaranteed disaster. It's going to cost you more than it's worth simply to force the decision through, and it's going to alienate central persons and institutions in British Quidditch; hell, _world_ Quidditch, and make future investments more difficult. Believe me, I know this game a hundred times better than you, and haven't you always told me that I should get other people's opinions where my own aren't sufficiently informed? _You_ need to listen to _me_ , this time."

Mr Smith was beginning to look extremely grouchy, and started to get up, but Zacharias grabbed his hand and leaned in to catch his gaze. "And there's another thing. Grandfather, that elephant heart will just have to keep beating for another decade or three, because I am going to play Quidditch." Ernie could see Zacharias's hand shaking where it clutched his grandfather's, and Ginny probably saw it too, because she stepped closer to his back in a quiet show of support. "I swear that I'm not going to let you down," Zacharias said. "I know I'm your only family and your heir, and that you want me to take over the company after you, and I will. But that's not likely to be needed for a long while yet. And I want to do this. I _need_ to do this."

 

***

 

Pandemonium broke loose at that point. Perhaps, thought Ginny later, a stroke of luck for Zacharias.

Just as Bernard Smith recovered his dropped jaw and looked about to start to yell, a dozen fire-fighters from the Wizarding Fire Squad Apparated onto the scene and started securing the front of the building against flying sparks from the tree, before they attacked the fire itself. At the same time, there was someone shouting from the gates. When they were let in, it turned out to be George and Gwenog. The latter wore pyjamas under her raincoat, accidentally matching those of Smith Sr., and her dark skin took on an ashen cast when she saw the smoking, smouldering tree. She quickly walked up to Ginny and drew her into a rib-crushing hug.

"Ginny! Oh hell, I was woken by the thunderstorm and remembered that you were tied to the tallest tree in bloody square _miles_. The weather looked so nice, I didn't think to check the forecast."

"I'm all right," Ginny assured her. "I'd gone flying with—" She nodded to Zacharias, who was still at his grandfather's side.

"Really?" Gwenog's voice was still not quite steady, but she perked up enough to raise her eyebrows in query. "Managed to talk some sense into that pretty head of his?"

"No!" Ginny scowled. "You sound just like his granddad. Zacharias's head has more sense in it than one might think. We've only been _talking_."

Ernie smirked at her, and Ginny blushed and gave him a half-hearted glare.

George put an arm around her waist. "You realise I made the charm with instructions to free you in case of danger, I hope. I was never really worried, but, well — you know I'm soft-hearted, and it's hard to keep sleeping, with one's little brat sister bound to a tree in a thunderstorm."

"Oh, I was long gone by the time the storm struck. Zacharias kissed me," Ginny confided, smiling at him. "And the chains fell off."

"Bloody good thing, too, so you could get away — wait. You mean you let him keep kissing you _after_ that?" George's expression fell, and he sent Zacharias a mildly appalled look. "Does this mean I have to like the bloody git now?"

"It's a bit early to say," Ginny said, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, enough to get an 'oof' out of him. "But just in case, it would be lovely if you will at least refrain from being actively horrible."

There was suddenly pop after pop of Apparition, and Ginny eventually pressed a palm over her eyes and groaned. Mum, Dad, Percy, Ron, Hermione and Harry all turned up to make sure she was all right, and at the same time the Harpies started trickling in, and a blonde woman in gaudy robes who made Ginny put her hand on her wand and scowl.

"Silence!"

Everyone looked up at the booming voice from the front steps, where Zacharias's grandfather had got to his feet, wet as a drowned cat (but then, so were they all). As morose as he seemed, he still commanded the attention of the crowd.

"I need a cuppa. Better yet, a large glass of Ogden's Best." Even his sigh sounded impressive, with the Amplifying Charm. "You might as well all come inside, and I'll have a fire made and something on the table. Not you!" he broke himself off as the blonde woman immediately started making her way to the front. He pointed a finger at her, irate. "Bloody gossipmonger! Completely misquoted me on this Harpies business."

Ginny did a double take and raised her eyebrows.

"If there has been a misunderstanding, I am more than willing to set it right," Rita Skeeter said smoothly, smiling and drawing out her quill and a note-pad. "A quick interview over a glass of Ogden's, perhaps?"

"Oh... hell and damnation!" He scrubbed a large hand over his jaw. "All right, if we must." He shook his head and shoulders like a great, wet dog, and flung the front door wide open, disappearing into the house without checking who would follow.

An arm wound around Ginny's waist, and soft warm lips pressed against her rain-wet nape. "He needs an excuse to back down, so he can save face," Zach murmured. His tongue licked up rain-drops, making her shiver. "Skeeter is a convenient lightning rod. So to speak."

"Well then. I won't hex her after all, when she's serving such an excellent purpose." She turned in his arms, and stroked the wet hair gently from his face. From the look in his eyes, she could tell he was still a bit shaken, but he also looked so, so relieved. "Hey, you know what? You're still alive," she observed with a small grin.

"Still alive, and feeling a ton lighter. Amazing, yeah?" He shrugged. "It's going to take time for him to come around, but what can he do? I think when he simmers down I can make him see that I _will_ keep my promise. Honour among Hufflepuffs, all that. Besides, let's face it, I need some luck, here. I'm so out of shape, it will be a wonder if a team will even have me."

"Well, the autumn try-outs are in two months." Ginny gave him a wicked smile, winding an arm around his neck and drawing him down to her for a wet, warm, delicious kiss. "You're not _that_ out of shape, far as I could tell. We'll just have to work on getting you even better," she whispered against his lips. Her hand drifted down to squeeze just below his bum. "Stop those nice thighs shaking."

There were fire-fighters moving and shouting around them, and sparks and water and ashes raining down, and Mum was starting to say something in a shocked voice before Perce and George dragged her away towards the house, and Ernie whooped and Gwenog wolf-whistled, and she was quite sure that Ron and Harry were staring aghast, and at some point a flash-bulb went off, but she never stopped kissing Zacharias.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review [here](http://community.livejournal.com/smutty_claus/151619.html?mode=reply).


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